The Origins of Anthea
by Rose Rasmussen
Summary: "My name wasn't always Anthea. At one point I was named Natasha, but that wasn't my real name either. I can't quite remember what my given name was, but it doesn't matter anymore, I can never go back to being her." Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and drug use


**My name wasn't always Anthea. At one point I was named Natasha, but that wasn't my real name either. I can't quite remember what my given name was, but it doesn't matter anymore, I can never go back to being her. When I was little, I lived in a town called Chester. It was in Canada, somewhere off the Atlantic. I don't remember much of Chester, there wasn't much to remember. It was a small town, never labeled on any maps, one school, a post office, a general store, and a few houses. When I was seven, I witnessed the murder of a boy at my school. The police asked me about it, I told them who did it. They never found enough evidence to properly arrest him, so he walked free. They never thought to protect me, after all, what kind of a monster would go after a seven year old girl? He broke into our house late at night and grabbed me out of my room. My parents never heard me scream. I never did like talking, let alone screaming. It required too much effort. He took me to the ocean, I was bound and gagged. I remember being put in a crate and put on a gently swaying platform, which I now realize was a boat. I was taken across the ocean, where I was put with a violent man named Joseph. He never hurt me unless I disobeyed. I tried not to, but sometimes there were things a seven year old girl just couldn't do. He learned to make me useful. At first I would just steal small things, like jewelry and clothing, things that could be hidden easily while walking out of a store. It changed though. Every time Joseph would get angry, he would call someone, and they would come and bring him 'medicine' to make him calm. Joseph had named me Tessa, after his girlfriend. sometimes, he would talk about her in such a disgusting way, it made me ashamed to be a woman. On my eighth birthday, Joseph didn't know it was my birthday, I finally spoke out. I told the man that I wanted to go home, something I had never done before. He said I was throwing a fit, and made me swallow these nasty pills. I remember feeling like I was flying, like the world was something different and foreign. After that, I was given to someone else, and I lived with them for a while. His name was Lyon, or was that the city we were in? It doesn't matter anymore, he is dead now and I am lever going back. I was ten when I was put in an orphanage. I had learned a few words of french, but nothing too useful, just terms that would most likely turn heads. I loved computers. There was a community computer at the orphanage library, and I booked every time I could. I liked talking to people in America, they spoke English, and it was nice to be able to talk in a language I actually understood. I was put in a foster home a bit later. There was a woman named Celine, and she taught me proper french. She called me Lanka, that is, until she died and I went to live with her brother. He didn't ever use my name, he just called me 'petite fille', which means 'little girl'. He was very affectionate, though when I told my teacher about how much he liked me, I was sent to live with his cousin Margaret, who lived in England. I liked living with a her. For my twelfth birthday, she got me a phone, so I could keep in touch with my friends from France. No one knew my real name, so I named myself Natasha. Marget and I lived in greecee for a while, where I learned the native langueges there, I was also learning the art of computer hacking. On my sixteenth birthday, I broke into the central mainframe for the London met, just for kicks, to see if I could. A few days later, I was confronted by the Greek police and was taken from Margaret and brought to London. I was interrogated about weather or not I did it, and how. I told them nothing, denying every claim against me. Finding that they could not get me to confess, they brought in an interested party, not of the criminal infraction, but of my skills. He was called Mycroft Holmes, certainly a strange name. He made a bargain with me. instead of wasting my talent and letting my brain rot, come to work for him, as a personal assistant, and serving the british government. At first, I refused. He was very persuasive, however, and offered me a large sum of money, which would be sent to Margaret until my eighteenth birthday, when I would receive the money. I agreed. At those prices, who could afford to be picky? I don't know how they knew my name, my fake one at least, but they seemed to know about Margaret's cousin and what he did to me. Beyond that, they were clueless. No amount of research or paperwork could tell them about what happened in Chester, nor about my journey oversea, or the various men I had stayed with, or the drugs they took. Beyond my tenth birthday, I was non-existent. The stories of how I came to be are mine alone, now that no one but me knows them. Not even Margaret, who I visit once a year. I am nothing more than a high paid secretary, always on hand in case wants into something. I called myself Anthea instead of Natasha, what was one more name anyway? It reminded me of my time in Greece and the path that took me to where I am sitting now, across from a doctor named John Watson, who very obviously likes me. has given me instructions to take the doctor to one of his meeting places, not able to come himself, lest he arouse the suspicion of his brother, whom I have met once, and determined that it is indeed very easy to become an enemy in his eyes.  
"What's your name?" He asks me, clearly trying an awkward attempt at flirting. I don't flirt with men like him.  
"Anthea." I tell him, that is the name I have gone by ever since pulled me out of the gutter. Of course I laugh when he asks if it's my real name. I don't even /know/ my real name.  
But that doesn't matter one bit.**


End file.
